Once I wake, I cannot wait to jump on the laptop. My blog is lost in redirection limbo. Last night I spent several hours undoing many of the migration protocols. Since nothing was working, I deleted all references to the new hosting site, thinking that would allow me to revert back to Blogspot. Instead, I managed to take my blog offline. My Domain (my website name) no longer recognized the path to the internet. So this morning, I feel like I know how to move forward, but I don't understand how to get there. I need to establish a connection between Blogspot and my Domain. So I spend the next four hours working through the problem. Fortunately, I have leftover pizza in the fridge, which allows me to remain at the hostel and fix the problem. A little after 1 pm, I have the problem solved. Phew! That took me less time than I was expecting. I laugh at myself. Probably would have only taken me 10 min had I known what I was doing!
I had allowed all day to fix my blog and domain issues, and now I have a free afternoon. A gift! I close the laptop and plan to take it easy today. I had a long and hard day of walking yesterday. The last thing I want to do is set myself back by pushing hard two days in a row. I think back to my conversation with Klaudia and Dylan near Gortin. Let's see if I can find some Dandelion and Burdock soda in Belfast. The image below is what I am after.
I spend the next 4-5 hours wandering around Belfast searching for the mysterious soda. When I inquire about where to find it, people tell me they have never heard of it. Later, Klaudia tells me in her email, "It's because no one likes the taste. haha!" I enjoy the fool's errand nonetheless. The closest thing I find to the mysterious soda is Dandelion and Burdock Tea at a health food store. After declaring No Joy. I purchase a can of Kombucha.
Near the hostel is an intriguing building. A giant industrial box with yellow trim. It towers over the surrounding buildings. My initial reaction when I saw this building? That is atrocious and out of place. After passing it almost daily now, I've grown quite fond of the building and love to admire the strange, unusual, and futuristic architecture. It reminds me of a building from some post-apocalyptic movies I've seen before. The building in the photo below is the Belfast City Center Hospital.
It's now around 630 pm, time to find a place to eat. As I leave City Center, I pass a little restaurant that catches my eye. I flip through my phone. Ha! This was on my list, Ginger Bistro. I walk in and find a table. It feels good to rest. As I sit waiting for dinner, I take a moment to recall the events and discussions around yesterday's tour. As I look west out the window, I notice down the road is another Protestant neighborhood. I can see the banners and flags from where I sit. I also notice a burn yard. More on this later. My dinner arrives. A slow-cooked Featherblade steak (a.k.a, Flat Iron steak) with mashed potatoes, root vegetable gravy, and a side of cottage pie. The steak is delightfully light. I've never used light as a way to describe red meat before. It is wonderful. The cottage pie is a great compliment.
Then I order dessert. OH my goodness! A banana tarte tatin with salt and caramel ice cream, creme Anglaise, and pistachio praline. "How was it?" asks the waiter. Wow! Is all I can say. He laughs. "A lady described it as ORGASMIC! Ok, I'll be sure to tell the chef he's pleased you," he says laughing. This desert was fantastic, with warm bananas, and fresh pistachios. The smell of sweetness with the mint contrast is pleasing.
I leave Ginger Bistro after a 2-hour dinner. I laugh to myself. Man, this feels good. I just had a 2-hour dinner with myself and enjoyed every minute of it. It feels fantastic not to feel any pressure to rush off somewhere else. Once out the doors, I cross the streets to the burn yard. Today is July 8th. The night of July 11th, the big Protestant celebration, is only a few days away. In the burn yard, on the other side of the chain-link fence, teenagers are busy organizing the pallets into a towering 30-foot (10 m) round pyramid. Parts of the tower are in the process of being painted red, white, and blue. 
When I arrive at the hostel, I find Erika sitting at the reception desk. I bend her ear some more about what I have just seen. "Yep. It is how they keep the cycle going. They reward the Protestant youth while institutionalizing a sense of community. Good job! We are proud of what you have done for the community," she says. "I close the hostel for this week, as I have no desire to support people that sympathize with the Orange Order," she says. The Orange Order is the organizer and the organization behind this tradition.
The celebration is supposed to be in memory of King William of Orange's defeat of the Catholic King James II. According to Erika, however, it is far from that. "They still burn the Irish National flag. Write hateful things on the stacks before burning them. They are supposed to avoid Catholic neighborhoods with their parades. The reality is they still seek out confrontation, shout hateful things, and sing terrible songs." says Erika.
Many of the Police Services of Northern Ireland (PSNI replaced RUC) are Protestant officers in Belfast. They march ahead of the parade participants and force their way through all peaceful attempts to keep marchers out of Catholic neighborhoods. Erika pulls up a few videos showing Irish Catholic adults sitting peacefully, locked arm-in-arm at the crossroads of their street. The PSNI aggressively work to break them up to allow the Loyalists access to the road. So much for "To Protect and To Serve," I say with a heavy heart. "The routes are all approved before the 12th. When the day comes, they deviate from the approved routes with police escorts. When they are challenged, their response is this is a community celebration. We have no intention of creating conflict. Our goal is to share our celebration,” says Erika. I can sense the disgust she feels for these horrible and outdated practices.
Part of me would like to be a to observe this. I ponder how I would feel and react if I were here in person on the 11th and 12th. I conclude the best place for me is to leave as planned for Dublin. I am not sure I would be able to control my reactions. I am conflicted at the same time. This is difficult to admit to myself. I don't have much tolerance for this kind of behavior. I do, however, firmly believe in acceptance and human rights. Indifference is what allows things like this to persist in the world today. Am I part of the problem now by turning away? Does my non-action mean I condone this behavior? I am a visitor to Ireland. I am here to observe and learn. I am not here to get involved. I realize I do feel deep empathy for the Irish Catholics that endure this despicable and continued hazing annually. As I sit here writing my thoughts down, I can feel my eyes well up and my throat closing. I pause and take a few deep breaths.
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